


Gesellschaft

by marysuofyay



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: BABIES AT SOME POINT?, BUT DOES IT GET BETTER?, I only about half way know where I'm going with this, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, M/M, body horror?, i don't really know what i'm doing, preggo robots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-29
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-07-10 23:21:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7012312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marysuofyay/pseuds/marysuofyay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the Decepticons are the first to discover something, it usually doesn't mean anything good for anyone else. Particularly if the discovery entails what a certain frame type is capable of...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> WELL HELLO. I haven't written anything in, uh... A long time. But, hey, it's SUMMER TIME now and I'm free of classes, so HI.
> 
> I also tend to hurt the characters I love. SO LET US DO THIS THING.

Pipes was starting to wake up. Groans were the first sign of it; it quieted the sparse, nervous chatter that had been the only sounds for the past several hours.

Huffer grumbled a complaint from his cell that went ignored; all optics were on Pipes, looking through the bold, gleaming energy bars that separated their cells. Silence fell and was maintained. It had actually been Brawn’s idea for it, to suggest that it was probably better for the last of them to figure it out on his own. The idea, Brawn had tried to explain, was that it would be healthier; less of the stark panic and subsequent debating/arguing/yelling that the rest of them had gone through.

Though, in defense of the earlier yelling, Huffer had also been the first of them to wake up. Having Huffer try to tell anyone just about anything was not really something advisable under any circumstances.

So, Pipes was left to figure it out on his own. The last of the captured Autobots to come to the conscious world. Or, rather, the last of the captured _mini_ bots; the fact that all four of them were minibots, though, was the least odd thing about this entire affair.

From the next cell over – between Pipes and Brawn, though the latter still had a clear view of the blue truckformer thanks to bright lights unusual on it’s own for a cell block – Windcharger gave Brawn a quick, worried glance before looking back to Pipes.

“Ow.” Came from the bot at the center of all the attention as he slowly stood up from where he had been dumped on the floor. “What _hit_ me?”

None of them answered the question. The silence to an otherwise simple question – they ordinarily would have started bantering by now – did not go unnoticed; Pipes looked up in alarm. At the lack of visible injury on the rest of them, the blue minibot became visibly confused. Then, he finally looked around.

It took some time; Pipes was not known for his ability to make quick deductions or for a keen eye to detail. From the cell flush against the wall, Huffer took a breath, likely intending to make the process of discovery go a great deal faster, but a raised hand and a sharp look from Brawn quieted him. They had _discussed_ this; Huffer pouted with visible annoyance but made no other sound.

“What the slag?” That eventually came from Pipes as he noticed the separate cells. They had each been placed in one of their own; normally, when more than one of their size were taken after a skirmish, they were all tossed in the same cell out of what was either convenience or spite, depending on who did the tossing.

After several seconds, optics widened with the realization that their cells came equipped with some highly unusual features; an energon dispenser, a small stack of cubes to use it with, a door that visibly led to a washracks of some sort, and a berth with real, actual cushioning.

It was the berth that did it.

“…Oh.” That, and the rest of them shared surprised glances at the tone of it, was the rather subdued reaction to the fact that although everything else in their cells were adjusted to minibot size – somewhat disturbingly so on it’s own –, the berth was most certainly not.

“Yeah…” Drawled Huffer. “Figured that out, huh?”

Pipes turned to look at the rest of them, optics wide; he winced, however, as he did so, one hand absently feeling for a wound that would cause the pain. He found it and glanced down when he did; optics immediately flashed overbright. _“What the slag is **that**?!”_

“The rest of us have it, too.” Windcharger pivoted slightly to show Pipes the identical welding scar on the lower half of his own stomach; a surgical wound. “We don’t know what they did to us, either.”

“I’ve been saying it’s a surgically implanted bomb.” Huffer growled from the floor of his own cell, sitting back against the extra wall a corner cell provided with his arms folded. “When we get out, boom!”

Brawn pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s not a bomb. It’s too obvious to be a bomb. It would show up on scans Ratchet would do on us before we’d actually leave.” As was standard procedure.

“But how would we know for sure, huh?!” Huffer yelled; it was actually an improvement from the usual screeching of murder he’d be in to by now. It was the clearest sign of his worry.

“Huff, not now.” Brawn didn’t move; a hand was still at his nose.

“We don’t actually know anything, guys.” Windcharger squeaked, hands raised to try and pacify his friends. “Though, yeah, I really, _really_ don’t want to think about bombs in my internals right now.”

“Uhm…” That came from Pipes. “Is anyone else concerned about the giant not-us-sized berths in here? I’m a little more concerned about _that._ ”

Silence fell; Huffer glared at the floor as both Brawn and Windcharger looked to Pipes.

“We… We remember training, right?” The nervous candor in Windcharger’s voice was something that they all felt to some degree. “The vid-files?”

The vid-files had been on all of their minds since they had woken up in some aspect; after coming to the same realization in some way or another, it was the first thing that they would recall. The Autobots – Prime – had made it a priority.

The files themselves had been mandatory viewing since the start of the war. On a frequent basis, they would watch one of the rotating tutorials on a variety of topics from building a makeshift weapon from battlefield scrap, self repair when a medic wasn’t present, to basic survival techniques. Once in a while, the file chosen – and it was the most hated by all the Autobot troops simply because of how stark and depressing it was – was what to do in case of enemy interface assault.

The file had not been lacking for detail; there had been separate sections based on frame type and size. The section on minibots had been the goriest of them all.

Still, the instructions, no matter the who or why, boiled down to the same basic concept; survival was most important. Dignity and pride were not as paramount when in the face of that sort of situation. Falling short of giving important intel or secrets, surviving with the least amount of injury possible – particularly if captured and held captive – became the only rule.

“Maybe they’re just trying to shake us up.” Pipes whimpered; he was staring at the berth again. “’Cause, I gotta admit, I’m feeling pretty shaken up right now.”

“We all are.” Windcharger agreed, standing as far away from the berth in his own cell as possible, almost against the bars separating them from the hall.

“We can hope.” Brawn shrugged helplessly. “They haven’t bothered to interrogate any of us yet, anyway.”

“Don’t suppose either of you can…” Pipes didn’t bother to finish the sentence; he already knew the answer. Without a verbal response, both Brawn and Windcharger raised a palm for him to see; round, disc-like inhibitors were locked in each one, keeping their abilities at bay. This was not a new tactic by either faction and had become the norm. “Damn.”

From there, silence fell again. The fear lay stagnant but only just; there was nothing to do but wait.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So my brain decided to change the entire story while writing this chapter. May change/add warning tags somewhere along the line. Pfftt.

Silence reigned for several slow hours. It was more for a lack of knowing what to say or what to share than the overhang of fear. It wasn’t until the brightly lit cell block had a sudden plunge in to darkness that any sound came at all.

“What.” The surprised sputter from Pipes came a full three seconds after the lights turns off; it was enough time for their optics to adjust to the dim gold and red strips recessed in to the floor outside their cells. “Just… What?”

“Guess they don’t plan with messing with us until tomorrow.” Windcharger sounded no less confused than Pipes.

“Are we sure?” Pipes audibly boggled. “’Cause this is kinda messing with me right now.”

Huffer grumbled out a mostly quiet curse. “This is the slaggin’ weirdest scare tactic. Stupid fraggin’ ‘Cons…”

A small laugh came from Windcharger. “Are you actually complaining that we’re _not_ being horribly tortured right now?”

In his cell, Brawn smirked a little to himself; despite it all, it was good to hear the banter. “No idea what these slaggers are gonna do tomorrow. We should probably recharge.”

“Think they’ll come in the middle of the night or something?” Pipes asked; the sounds of metal stretching as he relaxed accompanied the question. “I mean, can’t see for slag in here, but still.”

An annoyed ‘bah’ came from Huffer. “Doubt these idiots are that creative.”

“Just go to sleep.” Brawn sighed.

 ---------

Brawn woke up hours before the lights turned back on. In that time, he turned the situation over in his head a dozen different ways; had he ben captured on his own and held solo, he would not have nearly been as concerned as he was. On his own, he could handle just about anything, he believed; the others, though, he worried about.

Something about the entire situation felt _off_ and he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. The separate cells with their unusual fixtures yelled one thing, but what the Decepticons were doing – or what they _weren’t_ doing – said something completely different. He didn’t understand it.

The lack of understanding, he knew, left the entire situation in shambles; how was he going to brace for what was coming when he didn’t entirely know what was? How was he going to protect the others? Usually, the Decepticons were more transparent than this.

He was still trying to figure it all out when the lights turned back on. It came in a bright, sudden _flip_ from darkness to a bright that briefly blinded him; it came with no sound or warning.

Once his optics adjusted, he looked to Huffer’s cell to the left; the orange and blue minibot was still sitting against the wall. He had slept, from the look of it, with his arms folded and the same scowl on his face that he typically held when awake. Huffer had begun to stir but his expression remained unchanged; Brawn couldn’t help but smirk.

Then, he turned to the right, to look in to Windcharger’s cell; at once, the smirk vanished in to shock.

“ _Windcharger!_ ” Brawn yelped before really thinking about it.

The mech in question jolted awake at the yell. Optics darted about in alarm before settling in to confusion. “What?”

Brawn sputtered. “You recharged on the _berth_?!”

A moment of silence passed before Windcharger made a noncommittal noise and folded his arms defensively; he was still lying down. “Well…! It’s not a berth of trauma and nightmares yet, so I figured why not?!”

Uproarious laughter burst from Pipes’ cell.

“It’s comfortable.” Was the additional defense from the red and gray minibot; he didn’t move to get up.

“Unbelievable.” Huffer shook his head disapprovingly, but his tone wasn’t entirely serious. “You’re… Unbelievable.”

On the berth, Windcharger pouted.

 ----------

They had learned, after several hours, that both the energon dispensers and the washracks alike had both been set to rations. An attempt by Pipes to fill more than one cube at a time had earned him a red flashing light and a harsh _buzz_ from the dispenser itself.

Soon after, out of a mix of curiosity and sheer boredom, Windcharger had decided to test the washracks at the back of his cell. Somehow, he had managed to turn it on and leave without getting any of the spray of solvent on him. The soapy liquid rushed down for exactly ten minutes – Windcharger had timed it – before shutting off and refusing to turn on again.

“This is just getting weirder and weirder.” Pipes sipped at his cube; it was basic mid-grade, but it was still a great deal better than the usual prisoner fare. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say they were trying to get us to switch sides.”

“If they were, this is not the method I would’ve used.” A fresh cube filled in Windcharger’s cell, joining his words with the faint chime of trickling liquid. “And why us, anyway? We’re not important.”

“Two of us are outliers.” Brawn shrugged.

“Yeah, but two of us are _not_.” Pipes grabbed the rest of the empty cubes left by his dispenser and sat on the floor. Slowly, he began to stack them up in to a tower; the bemused looks both Brawn and Windcharger gave him were ignored. “So, why give us all the shiny stuff?”

“It’s so we’d forget about the _bombs_ they put in our _guts_!”

A chorus of groans met Huffer’s exclamation.

\--------- 

 

It wasn’t until the afternoon that the door opened. The sliding hiss was the only warning; it was loud, however, more so than a normal door. Wary expressions were shared as the four of them got to their feet; it was better to prepare to fight than to wait helplessly was the common reasoning.

Worry shifted to confusion as none of the usual suspects walked in; it wasn’t Soundwave to interrogate them or Starscream to shout threats. Instead, it was Hook, flanked by Bonecrusher and Scrapper. Only three of the Constructicons and Hook was a known medic besides.

Hook walked several paces ahead of his gestalt-mates and held a datapad in one hand. When he stopped, so did the other two; clearly, he was in charge. Hook looked to the datapad in his hands, then to the jailed minibots, then back to the datapad. “Third cell. The red and gray one.”

From where he stood next to the berth, Windcharger jolted in surprise. As the bars at the front of his cell flickered off, he backed away a couple of steps, raising fists as he did so.

“Hey!” Brawn was already by the bars that separated their cells; he nearly touched them and they sizzled in warning. “Leave him alone!”

Huffer had begun to growl curses, position similar to Brawn’s; Pipes said nothing, but his optics were wide and overbright.

A long, annoyed sigh came from Hook. “You.” He gestured vaguely at Windcharger. “Get on the berth, on your back.”

Windcharger didn’t move.

“ _Fine._ ” Hook rolled his optics. “Hold him.”

Bonecrusher and Scrapper rushed in, the latter laughing wildly. Loud clangs of metal meeting metal echoed through the cells as Windcharger swung at Decepticons twice his size; it mixed with the angry yells from Brawn and the swear-filled threats from Huffer.

None of it helped; Windcharger kicked at empty air as the two Constructicons pushed him to the berth and held him down. Through a space between one of Bonecrusher’s arms and hip, Windcharger’s optics met Brawn’s.

Brawn could see how frightened he was. He slapped a palm against the cell bars; they crackled loudly. “Hey! If you’re gonna frag someone, frag me! Get off of him!”

There was no response to any of the noises from the other cells. “Open your panel.” Hook managed to sound bored. There was a short pause before he rolled his optics again. “Either open it or I’ll force it open.”

“Sick freaks!” Huffer snarled, kicking once at the bars of his own cell.

The Constructicons were blocking most of the view of the other captive Autobots, but Windcharger must have opened his array of his own accord; Hook let out a breath. “Good.” Then, he reached to his side and pulled out a long, thin instrument from a compartment.

At the sight of it, the yells and shrieks stopped immediately. Brawn turned to share a confused look with Huffer before locking optics with a similarly baffled Windcharger. They all recognized the device; just about any Autobot would.

It was a medical device. Ratchet used an identical one on every Autobot -- _in_ every Autobot, technically – at their annual exam. It was designed, as Ratchet had explained to them the necessity of it, to find viruses and illnesses that normal scans wouldn’t be able to find. The interface array hosted countless bugs and symptoms; that was why it was built as a valve suppository.

“Hold still.” Why Hook bothered to warn his unwilling patient, none of them bothered to ask. The device was slid in with the care of any good medic; Windcharger stared in baffled amazement. It was removed after a few seconds.

Hook took two steps back to look down at the device. It had a small screen at the base of it; a chime sounded off as he pressed a button.

Neither Bonecrusher nor Scrapper moved from holding Windcharger down. They both waited, looking to the other Constructicon. The minibots themselves shared silent glances with each other, wary and unsure.

After a short time, a new _beep_ came from the device. “Clean. Good. Figured the other one was a false positive.” Hook grumbled something as he put the medical apparatus back in to the compartment he pulled it out of. From another, he pulled out a long, thick syringe filled with a murky white liquid.

“Woah!” Windcharger struggled at the sight of it, panic flashing on his face.

Huffer returned to shouting curses; what sounded like “oh slag” came from a stunned Pipes. Brawn was silent, but stared in shock.

Windcharger shut his optics off and braced himself as the syringe went where he expected it to go. Hook peered closely at his victim’s array, seemingly taking care with the injection.

It was over fairly quickly; the needle was pulled out after a short time, empty of its contents.

A vague gesture was given to the other Decepticons; without another word, the three Constructicons – two grinning and one scowling – walked away. The cell bars flashed back on when they did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have the feeling the 'noncon' tag doesn't TECHNICALLY apply here, but, eh, better safe than sorry. THINGS ARE GOING WHERE THEY PROBABLY SHOULDN'T BE GOING.


End file.
